


Supercat ficlet Collection: the AUs

by fictorium



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 20:46:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10395735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictorium/pseuds/fictorium
Summary: Initially posted on Tumblr, here are the ficlets and prompt fills that are one-shot AUs.





	

She should just keep on walking, the puddles splashing beneath her feet as she drags herself back from another bust of an interview. _When’s your boss comin’ darling’?_  and _I wanted a reporter, not his secretary._  Still, Cat had interviewed the Senator’s secretary instead and got herself scoops enough to be in print every day for a week. Her landlord would appreciate it, if nothing else. 

It’s a grand apartment all the same, even if three floors down there’s a slightly seedy bar. Usually by the time Cat drags herself home from the Planet’s offices, the last call brawls are spilling out into the alley. She has one foot on the fire escape up to her place when she hears something new, something softer and sweeter than the blaring brass that usually comes out of the bar’s doors. 

It’s curiosity that leads her in, no matter what it did to her namesake. She slips between swaying men in their less-than-sharp suits, and the working girls looking to make their own rent before morning that are keeping them company with whiskey and sodas. 

“Who’s the dame with the pipes?” She asks, flagging down Susan at the bar. Cat’s usual is poured without her having to ask, the bourbon welcome after a long day. She takes off the fedora she swiped from Clark at lunch, shaking out her pin curls. “She’s better than you usually have.”  


“Well, if it isn’t the Cat’s Meow,” Maxwell Lord took the seat next to her before Susan could answer. “That there is my new star. Or she will be.”  


“She’s too good for you,” Cat shoots him down and takes her drink in one. “You’re a pimp, not a promoter. And Moon River, really?”  


“Got you in here,” he points out. “And plenty of fellas willing to listen. Look around.”  


“Someone should warn her about you,” Cat decides.   


“She’s off after this, so knock yourself out” Max nods towards another singer drumming her fingers on a corner table, clearly bored and more than a little threatened. “Siobhan still gets her time until our little deal runs out.”  


Cat turns her back to him, intent on taking in the singer’s last song of her set. It’s the first time she gets a good look, the long honeyed curls bouncing softly, the sequins on her black dress drawing every eye in the room. As the tempo slows a little, the violin in the little band gets to have his solo. The girl sways in time, eyes closed. When she starts to sing, her voice drops into a smoky contralto, and those baby blue eyes open like a trigger being pulled. 

_You’ll never know just how much I miss you_  
You’ll never know just how much I care.  
And if I try I still couldn’t hide my love for you  
You oughta know, why haven’t I told you so?  
A million or more times. 

Cat shifts on her barstool, untying the belt of her trenchcoat at the sudden heat in the room. She isn’t sure the girl can even see her under those limited stage lights, but when Cat uncrosses and crosses her legs, she’s rewarded with a stammer in the next line. _Interesting._ She’s glad she wore one of her more form-fitting dresses.

She’s waiting in the corridor with a curtain that passes for backstage by the time the girl fights her way off the little stage, the usual line of opportunists promising to whisk her away. 

“You can carry a tune,” Cat declares, startling her. “Cat Grant, Daily Planet.”  


“You review bar singers?”   


“No, I’m here for pleasure, not business.” The air crackles between them as Cat extends a hand to shake. Sure enough, the touch lingers a moment too long, her hand bare against the girl’s black satin glove. “You got a name, doll?”  


“Kara,” she answers, a little breathless. “And was it?”  


“Was it what?” Cat asks, helping herself to a half-empty bottle of bourbon in the corner and pouring them each a glass. She hands it over and Kara sips at it with a wince.   


“A pleasure?” There’s a sparkle in those blue eyes, for all the corn-fed innocence in that face, there’s a flirtation too. Cat usually has to do a lot more digging before getting that kind of signal.   


“I’m pleased enough,” she confirms. “You know, this is no kind of space for a performer. You need space to unwind.”  


“Dressing rooms are for stars, not lounge singers.” Kara takes their empty glasses, sets them aside.  


“My apartment is right upstairs,” Cat blurts, before she knows she’s going to offer. “You’d have room to move around, hell, draw yourself a bath if you’d like.”  


Kara moves in close then, almost too quickly. Cat feels the exposed brickwork at her back. “Sounds like you want to get me out of this dress, Miss Grant.”

“And what if I did?” They’re inches from each other, the braying noise of the bar beyond fading into the background.   


Kara glances to make sure they’re still alone, before pressing a gentle kiss to Cat’s lips. “I’d say let’s leave the dress on at first. The gloves can go…” She moves to pull one off with her teeth, but Cat grasps her wrist. 

“Keep them on,” she insists. “I’m curious how they’ll feel.”  


“You’d better get me upstairs,” Kara whispers. “Or I’m _really_  going to be putting on a show.”  


“I came back here to warn you away from Max,” Cat tells her, still holding Kara’s wrist and leading her to the fire door.   


“That’s not where my interests lie,” Kara says with a giggle, pushing Cat against the railing of the fire escape as soon as they’re outside. This time Cat kisses her, messing up that perfect red stage lipstick without caring one bit. “But you knew that,” she continues when they part, making their way up the iron staircase. “Flashing your gams like that, trying to put me off my song.”  


“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Cat groans.   


Kara stops her at the first floor, outside old Mrs White’s window. Mrs White would need smelling salts if she knew what Cat had in mind for the next few hours. 

“I, uh, don’t do this,” she insists, and the veneer of the performer slips at last, that fresh-faced innocence beaming back at Cat instead. “But the moment I saw you…”  


“I have that effect,” Cat answered with a grin. “Now let’s see if I can make you hit those high notes, hmm?” 

They take the rest of the stairs at a run. 


End file.
